Calamité
by Mad Twins
Summary: The devil lives in the details. HPXSS HPXfindoutreading!
1. Prologue

**Title: **_Calamité_  
**Cover: **http : / / i161 . photobucket . com / albums / t233 / DarkAngelSly / calamite (underline) capa . jpg (take off the spaces)  
**Summary: **the devil lives in the details  
**Orientation:** Slash  
**Rating:** M  
**Gender:** Angst/Romance/Drama  
**Spoilers: **6  
**Status:** Incomplete  
**Chapters: **1/17

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognize belongs to me and I don't make any money out of it.**

THIS FANFICTION IGNORES THE DEATHLY HALLOWS PLOT, BUT IT KEEPS ITS CONCEPTS, THANK YOU!

**WARNINGS!**

**READ THE WARNINGS!**

1. This fanfiction is a translation. Its original goes under the very same name, by Dark K. Yes, the author is aware of this translation, so be nice.

2. So... do you know that seventh book? Forget it. Do you know Snape? Derange him. Do you know Harry? Change him.

x)

**I think that was the most important things, more warnings along the next chapters. Also, this story contains SLASH, as in, MALEXMALE pairing, so if that's not your cup of tea, don't read it, and if you insist to read it even with the warning, don't complain about it later, I AM letting you know beforehand what is in your way.**

**x)**

**Now that that is clear, on to the show.**

* * *

_**.**__ the devil lives in the details __**.**_

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions and the devil lives in the details. It's the little facts that change lives; it's the small people who change the world.

It's the little cunning moments that change the future.

For Voldemort was a genius, no matter how crazy or eccentric he had become as the years went by. He realized the threat that lived in Harry Potter. He knew that, without his mentor, the boy would be desperate. And, at the exact moment he felt triumphant for knowing that the hero of the Wizard World was nothing but a futureless child, he realized he did not know the whole prophecy. And he also realized that the connection they shared was beyond ordinary.

And he had thought. And thought again, and again, and again, about Potter, and his scar, and their lives, and that connection.

And he thought how Dumbledore always left his main pawn so exposed.

Just like he _wanted_ him to kill the boy.

_Just like he _wanted_ him to kill the boy._

And Riddle understood the riddle Dumbledore had understood long before.

Harry Potter, his enemy, was his Horcrux and, as such, could not be destroyed.

And it was from that detail that a misplanned attack, a surprise attack, had been born. The attack which killed Potter's mudblood friend and dozens of useless muggles and some Death Eaters.

And it was in that attack that Severus Snape proved once again his cleverness, even if not his fidelity.

And it was in that attack that Harry Potter disappeared.

And it was in that attack that _Armand_ came to life.

* * *

**So, this is the first little part, let me know what you think, and, yes, the next chapter is over ten pages and it's also ready, and it's got loads of nice action and a lot of explanations, and it will come much faster with reviews. **

**R E V I E W !**


	2. Armand

**Author: **Dark K.**  
Title: **_Calamité_  
**Summary: **the devil lives in the details  
**Rating:** M  
**Gender:** Angst/Romance/Drama  
**Spoilers: **6  
**Status:** Incomplete  
**Chapters: **2/17

**Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me, except Valerie, and I don't make any money out of it.**

**Thanks to whitehound, who pointed out some mistakes and left a review!**

**And to those of you who put this story on alert and favourites! Thank you, guys!**

* * *

**WARNINGS!**

**READ THE WARNINGS!**

**So that you don't complain later: this fanfiction's got LOADS of lemons. And I intend to continue like that because I've got the right to write lemons, just like you, dear reader who DOENS'T like this kind of stuff, has got the right to close this window and NOT read it. **

**But, know this: it is SLASH, it's got LEMONS, and the M over there is waaay justified. So if you don't like it, don't read it. And if you read it, don't complain later, I've warned you.**

**\o**

**Ok, now, useful warnings: foul language, a little bit of violence and a dancing Harry Potter. **

**OMG! o.o**

**x)**

**Be warned! Hope you like it!**

**(Oh, geee, won't this girl just shut up?)**

**More warnings! The song that's mentioned in this chapter is 'She wants it', by 50 cent, and the scene that comes after this song (don't worry, you'll understand it) is 'You look like rain', by Morphine. No song mentioned here is mine, and I don't have any rights over it, I just don't get to write without a song. O.o**

**Ok, now I'll be quiet.**

**Enjoy the chapter. \o**

* * *

**Armand**

London is a cold city. Versatile, fast, just like every other metropolis. And cold.

Cold to the strangers, the foreigners, the outsiders who don't belong to this city, or better still: who belong, but don't fit in there.

They are the people who live in the neighbourhoods where you wouldn't go unless it was daylight, and you had _big_ friends with you.

It's the places where the buildings are decrepit, where even the moonlight looks dirty, where cheap whores fight over corners and mindless youngsters use illegal drugs without any fear of the police: the police _doesn't get in_ this neighbourhoods at night.

But Severus Snape was not afraid of the neighbourhood, or the barely seen moonlight because of the drizzle. He just didn't listen to the obscene callings from the ugly young women, or the threats of the evil tempered boys. Because Severus Snape was a man on a mission.

Severus Snape was looking for Armand Boncroyant, a young man he himself had left in that very same building he was standing in front, holding what to the by passers was a thin looking piece of wood.

The man's face didn't recommend him to approach; Severus Snape was a man with problems. And problems didn't do any good for someone who lives each day in the fine line between life and death.

-:-:-

_Harry was absolutely sure that her screams could be heard from miles away._

_And the pain he could hear._

_And the laughter that was hurting him._

_And Ron who was trying to reach her, and Snape coming out of nowhere and was following him, and Harry could only stare, stare and feel the tears coming down his face, and he couldn't move because he knew __it was his fault__._

_It would __**always**__ be his fault._

_And he felt himself being restrained, and the Death Eaters were still laughing, and Snape's voice was telling him not to try to run away, but he couldn't, if his friends were going to die, then __**he should die too**__. No help. Despair. Hermione's screams while she was murdered, tortured to death, and Ron's pale face, and everyone accusing him and saying he had failed, and the disappointment, and Snape, the murderer, his mentor's executioner, the man he wished he could kill with his own bare hands._

"_Don't be stupid, Potter! You cannot run away, nobody wants to kill you!"_

"_Let me go, you COWARD!"_

"_Stupeffy!"_

_And then nothing._

-:-:-

Armand Boncroyant was a lad who should have been easy to find. After all, Snape was the one to find him a job and a flat and a _life_.

Young, muggle, Parisian, orphan.

Armand lived in the flat number 312, a bedroom, a bathroom, a little square they called a kitchen. A job in the baker's nearby. A salary he could barely pay his bills with, but it would keep him there, in that place where Snape had put him, this way, he could know the boy was still there, because Snape's _life_ depended on it.

An impeccable plan, if it wasn't for a very little detail: Armand _wasn't_ in that building anymore.

-:-:-

_A dark room. Sweat. Anxiety. His life in a very thin string._

_The weight of the world on that excuse for a human being's shoulders. That boy who was lying, immobilized and asleep, on the old couch of the tiny dirty room, in the ends of the poorest part of muggle London._

_A spell._

_A single spell._

_And the order given by his Lord, the boy who should be kept alive, but should disappear, and the fact that Snape had sworn to protect him, even if not in the way Dumbledore had wanted. And the choice between his promise to Lily and his obligation to the Wizarding World._

_And the decision coming so much more easily than it should have._

_A memory altered. And the memories of the French he learnt by himself. And the reminding of the accent he tried to copy._

_And a new – and miserable, and common, and ordinary – life to the savior who hadn't saved anyone, not even himself._

_And the disappearance of Harry Potter that soon would become the certainty of his death in the battlefield, along with his best friend._

_And the rising of the muggle, orphan and moneyless Armand Boncroyant, a name meaning nothing, poetry wasted in a dirty little room in one of the most disgusting neighbourhoods of London._

_And the 'good faith soldier' who would become a nobody._

_And the spell done, a guiltless sleep to the spelt, and all his environment adjusting with him._

_Severus Snape was a man who kept his promises._

_And he had sworn to protect Harry Potter – even from the boy himself._

_And he would keep it._

_Following his Lord's orders._

-:-:-

Snape had to pay to the muggle who used to live beside Armand to know where the boy had ended up living. Armand had moved to a better neighbourhood. He didn't keep in touch because, said the boy with a face full of cheap make up and too tight clothes to be just a pedestrian on those streets, he was now an upper class.

Snape paid expensively for the information and received an invitation when he got it, which he refused, almost terrified.

Following to the new address, he ended up in a well-cared building, with gardens in front, in a respectable neighbourhood – if compared to the one he had just left.

It was just so bloody typical of Potter being lucky even when dropped without a sicle and without his fame.

Asking to the doorkeeper if he knew Monsieur Boncroyant, the man needed a minute to remember whom he was talking about.

"The French people?", the man asked, with a knowing air, "Yes, yes, number 701. The raven-haired lad and the little blond lass. You may go up, sir. There's always someone home.", he said, laughing a little, as if at a joke only he could understand.

Snape went up by the stairs, refusing to be stuck in that little metal box the muggles called an elevator. The building's corridors were beautiful and well taken care of, flowers and plants in each stairhead, the doors were made of a light coloured wood, having an air of comfortable modernity. Nothing extremely beautiful, but nothing ordinary either.

Ringing the doorbell, he waited for a few minutes, until he heard the door being unlocked and a blond girl, voluptuous, open the door and face him with a surprised smile on her face.

"May I help you?", she asked, as if feeling he didn't know what he was doing there.

"I think so. Do you know Monsieur Boncroyant?"

The girl smiled, more openly now, and opened the door a bit more, leaning against the doorframe casually, showing off her short silk dress and her bare feet.

"_Mais oui, mon chér.¹ Armand_ lives here. _Je suis Valerie.¹_ Perhaps _I_ may help you?", she asked.

The girl had a very strong French accent, drawling her 'r's, in a way which could only be described as _sexy._ Each syllable was well pronounced and a smile on her face. Snape frowned, intrigued. It was almost as if she was trying to seduce him.

"I don't believe so, miss. I'm looking for Armand Boncroyant.", the girl smiled again, a little more maliciously, and gave him the address from a place which, according to her, was a nightclub, where Armand was sure to be.

"_Il souvant va là_¹ on Fridays.", she smiled once more, "_Bonne chance, mon cher!_"¹, she said, smiling and closing the door, and Snape found himself with an unknown address and a long night ahead of him.

At that right moment, he remembered each and every reason why he hated Potter.

-:-:-

"_I want to know how he is, Severus."_

_And Severus didn't need any descriptions or questions to know whom his master was talking about._

_There was only one subject that edged on obsession by his master like that, only one which made him lock doors and spell all around, and guarantee that no one, never, would have a way to know what he was talking about._

_And Snape knew he would have to look for Potter in the muggle world, just so his master would get a little calmer._

_It was the price for having kept Potter alive: his freedom._

-:-:-

A sweet scented smoke was twirling near his feet, and Snape feet the pull to curse every single one of the men and women who were at the thing they called a 'dance floor'.

That wasn't a dance. It resembled much more a public mating ritual – wild, an annoying and repetitive beat, voices with a clear American accent singing a song which bordered on obscene with its double meaning words, and its rhythm leading the dancers in insinuating and barbarian waves.

He was looking for the well-known rebel black hair. For Salazar, what _was_ Potter doing in such a place? It wasn't befitting of the boy he used to teach at Hogwarts – the lanky boy who only resembled some kind of gracefulness when he was in the air.

He almost smiled – in an evil way – when he imagined some poor muggle girl being tortured by Potter and having to stand him in that sty they called dance floor.

And then a boy passed in front of him, his back was all he could see, touching every single part of his body with the apparently casual gesture, forcing Snape to step back in the already scarce space between his stool and the counter. And he saw the flash of a smile touch the corners of the boy's lips. The boy simply continued on his way, leaning on the counter beside him, attracting the attention of the bartender to him immediately.

Raising an eyebrow at those young muggles' behaviour, he continued looking. He was almost giving up and going to wait in front of Armand's flat when he saw a man – much bigger than _him_, certainly bigger then the small lad that had just passed in front of him – hold onto the boy's waist.

And the boy turned around in the stranger's possessive embrace and smiled.

And those smiling green eyes made him stop breathing for a few moments.

"Running away, Armand?", said the stranger, while Snape watched, in a daze, the Boy-Who-Lived smile at the man.

"Of course not, _mon cher_.", answered Armand, the strong French accent from Paris that _Severus Snape_ had given him, over one year ago, "I was thirsty."

"I buy your drink.", answered the man, advancing a few steps and pushing the smaller boy against the bar, his hands going to places Snape didn't even want to imagine when they disappeared under the black tight shirt Pott… _Armand_ was wearing.

In front of the disbelieving ex-Professor, the raven haired boy smiled maliciously and leaned his head against the man's shoulder, his hands also disappearing under the taller's man shirt, while the bartender was taking their drinks.

Snape saw the man pay for their drinks and even if he didn't understand much about muggle money he realized the prices were exorbitant. The man whispered something in the shorter's young man ear, while he took a sip of the drink, making the boy smile and face the man again, running his tongue over his lips, his eyes shinning in a way which could only be described as seductive.

"I'll wait for you here.", he said smiling, and Snape saw, to his great disgust, the man squeeze the boy's buttocks before leaving.

"Armand!", called one of the bartenders, and the boy looked at an aging man sitting at the back of the bar, drying some glasses, leaving to the younger bartenders to answer the clients' frantic orders.

"Ed!", greeted the boy, leaning against the counter so that he could speak to the man better, "How's the night going?"

The man smiled.

"Good. But yours is about to get bad, if you go with that big fellow."

Snape saw the black haired frown worriedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember what happened to Daniel, last week?", Snape saw the boy agreeing with a nod of his head, "That was him."

"_Merde._"¹, said the boy, "I've just settled the price."

The bartender made a face where Snape could see disapproval, concern and understanding all together.

"Can't you go home?", the raven haired shook his head negatively.

"It's not even ten! Lose the whole night? No!"

They traded a meaningful glance, and Snape saw the boy's eyes widen, shinning with a certain dose of fear, when he saw the man they were talking about coming towards him.

By pure instinct, realizing his ex-pupil was afraid, Snape whispered a simple and discrete spell, making the man stop, think for a moment, and simply stand there, looking at the bar. On a fast move, Snape pulled the boy behind him, while the man passed by, towards the exit, apparently without seeing the boy.

Seconds later, the boy came from behind him, a charming smile on his lips.

"Just because of this, batman, you deserve a dance.", he said, smiling maliciously, taking Snape's hand and practically dragging him to the dance floor.

Paralysed by the shock, Snape, in all his superior Potions Professor Persona, could only stand, while his so hated ex-pupil danced.

And, boy, _could he dance_.

His eyes closed, his body moving along the sensual rhythm of the song that had just started, slowly at the beginning, as if he was absorbing the rhythm of the music before actually dancing it. And from one second to the other, it wasn't Harry Potter in front of him, it was sinuous moves, deliberated touches and closed eyes.

The rhythm going exactly along his hips and arms, gracefully, insinuatingly, maliciously, and _his eyes_.

He opened his eyes and smiled up, maliciously, professionally, his green eyes shining in such a way that wasn't possible take his eyes off him, at the same time Snape's body was attacked by the boy's hands, one finding the straight black hair, entwining itself there, the other going up, in the rhythm of the song, the boy's hips going against his, legs and hands, and his chest and hips, and Armand was _everywhere_, dancing fluidly, like the air, twirling every few seconds, not caring that his partner wasn't moving. He danced with the knowledge of those who know what they are doing, and know that they are good at it. He danced with the same grace he flew, gracefully, naturally. And he applied in each move a touch of sensuality and malice, each smile was programmed, an arrow going straight to its aim, and Snape found himself gulping, separating the person dancing around him from the student he'd come to look for.

When the music became once more the repetitive beat, it was almost as if the boy had read the man's thoughts.

"Let's get out of here.", the boy whispered in his ear, sending unwelcome and unrequired shivers down his back, and he found himself nodding yes, and let himself be led while the boy took his hands and enlaced them in front of his waist, making Snape hold him.

Leaving the crowded place, the boy squeezed the arms around his waist, leaning his head against the taller's man shoulder.

"Where do you want to go to?", he asked, his voice husky.

Snape gulped once more, unsettled by the proximity and intimacy of the boy.

"Anywhere…", he answered vaguely, without really knowing what the boy was talking about.

It was not _possible_ that someone like _him_ was interested in Snape, was it?

"Your place?", asked the boy once more, turning in his embrace, his eyes shinning in anxiety, as if he could barely wait to devour him whole.

And at the right moment he saw that look, Snape also felt something almost rehearsed in that scene. It looked like _too much_ desire, _too much_ anxiety to wish to be alone with a man like… well, like _him_.

"I'm not from around here.", he answered, seeing the boy smile and run his hand distractedly along the line of buttons from the man's black shirt.

"Alright. I know a place near here.", he made a pause, biting his lower lip and smiling, "But I always settle the price before leaving, _mon cher._"

And that simple statement had two instantaneous shocking effects on Snape.

The first was that that certainly cleared up the matter of the boy's interest on him, he thought he would be _paid_ for that. He could be a _troll_ and the boy would still be looking at him with those impossibly green eyes overflowing with desire, as he was in that moment.

The second came with much more serious and worrisome consequences.

_What_ had he done to that boy that led him to that life?

And the worst, how to take him out of it without attracting attention to where the boy was?

Some part of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for the boy took a step back, pulling their bodies apart, and faced him, all the self confidence he was showing before disappearing, an uncertain air on his face.

"_Je suis désole, monsieur._¹ I thought you knew… I apologize profusely.", the boy was taking a step back with each word, and Snape decided to ignore – for his own sanity sake – the little pang of pain he was feeling for seeing it.

He focused on more practical questions: he needed to find out more about Potter and if he let the boy go this time, he would never find him again – not without _others_ knowing it as well.

"No! I… I know it. I'm new here, is all. Where's the…", he covered his embarrassment with a little cough, "the motel?"

"Are you sure, _mon cher_?", asked the boy, and Snape nodded his head, making the malicious smile reappear on the boy's face.

"I'll take you.", he whispered, once more putting Snape's thin arms around his waist.

The walk to the motel was short and silent, Snape's brain trying to find out ways to escape that situation.

It wasn't what he expected.

It wasn't what he expected _at all_.

He should never have come looking for the boy, but he needed to know he was fine. It was his promise to Lily. It was an order from his Lord. And at that moment… He couldn't resist being led by the boy, with a morbid curiosity to see what he would do.

Because it _could not _be truth. Harry Potter had not become – better still – _he_ had not turned Potter into a street walker…

... had he?

How could he just follow Potter inside a motel room, acting like a… whore? It wasn't possible.

And when he realized he was _in_ the room, mirrors and lots of red satin everywhere, he seriously considered simply obliviating the boy and leaving.

But all rational thought left his body when he felt skilled hands touching his shirt's buttons.

He took a step back, sitting on the bed, coughing once more trying to cover for his ill being.

And Potter had the cheek to _smile_ at him, condescendingly.

"Nervous, batman?", asked the boy, in a kidding voice, his eyes shinning in amusement, "No need to be. If this is your first time we'll take it slow…", his voice went lower, barely a whisper, while he opened his own shirt, a button at a time, making Snape's breath hitch and pray to all the gods to give him the ability to close his eyes.

Because he couldn't do it by himself.

The boy's skin was immaculately white, a few scars staining with pale and sharp lines the fragile looking skin. Snape felt his mouth go dry and _intimate_ parts of his body start to respond.

For Mordred!

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to control his speeding pulse against his will. He felt soft but decided hands touch his shirt's buttons once more, and he didn't have the heart to stop it this time.

He was too busy focusing on breathing.

A task which became immensely harder when he felt cold lips touching his neck and his shoulders, the difference in the temperature, that hot tongue touching him, those cold lips kissing his shoulders, those teeth biting lightly one of his nipples, going down and down, his stomach and underbelly.

He couldn't stop a low and husky moan coming from his throat when he felt the boy's lips sucking his skin so _close_ from the part of his body that was _demanding_ attention, in that _very second_.

He opened his eyes – because not seeing was making everything worse – and pulled the boy's hair, maybe harder than he intended to, taking the boy's mouth off his belt.

The boy moaned low when he pulled his hair, and was smiling at him, running his tongue over his lips, as a famished man in front of the most delicious food.

And he could not, not for everything in the world, call forward the image he was trying to see, of the lanky boy he hated, wearing too big clothes. He could not.

This little devil, with a smile full of malice, simply _was not_ Harry Potter.

And thinking of Armand made him fell _so_ much better.

He released the boy's hair, which reached to his shoulders, and held him by the neck, as the boy stopped smiling and moistened his lips once more and, without taking his green eyes off him, opened his belt, and then his trousers, touching his penis, making him moan again.

"_Je veux toi, mon cher."_,¹ he whispered, before taking him into his mouth, making Snape push the hand that was holding the boy's neck down, as if to make him take more of him in his mouth, deeper, _stronger_.

And Armand moaned, as if it was him having that hot mouth on him, sucking him, running his tongue on him, making him moan more and more.

The boy's hands were on his thighs, still covered by the trousers, and Armand was squeezing them, moaning all the time, while his head moved up and down, sucking harder and harder, making Snape close his eyes and moan louder, one last time, before he was overridden by the sensations.

Severus didn't know what he had expected to see when he opened his eyes, but it certainly wasn't the sight his eyes met.

Armand's mouth was still around his shaft, licking the semen he hadn't been able to swallow and the scene that would certainly have caused repulse in Snape before, at that moment made him feel his pulse going faster once more.

And those green eyes were facing him, his tongue licking his own lips, and Armand's hand went to his lips, cleaning his mouth, his tongue appearing between his lips, and Snape let his arms fall behind him, leaning against the bed, without taking his eyes off Armand, who now was running a hand over his own chest, opening his trousers, touching his own penis with his right hand, while his left one was caressing his neck, still kneeling between Snape's legs.

The boy's first moan, the air of pleasurable abandonment on his face, while his hand moved faster and faster, everything was driving the ex-Professor crazy, making him forget who he was and what, exactly, he had come to do there. Gulping once more, he could not take his eyes off that hand, and those sinuous moves the boy was making, the hips coming and going, a fast but sensual rhythm, his moans, his hand that had been taken off his neck, and now was on his lips, touching them, as if claiming for attention to them.

And the boy opened his eyes at the precise moment where the pleasure overtook him, while he was whispering meaningless things in French and Severus could see the pleasure in green and that was just too much, too wrong, too sinful, and for Merlin, it was _good_.

Taking his had out of his trousers, panting, his face blushed for the physical effort, he got up slowly, taking feline steps to Snape, who was still in the same position on the bed. The boy's hands ran over the man's chest once more, going slowly to his trousers, which he pulled slowly, his nails touching the older man's pale skin lightly while he took them off.

Going up again, he started to follow his hands with slow kisses, almost delicate, on the man's legs, advancing over him, till he was finally lying completely in bed, the man's breathing shallow and fast.

Standing, Armand opened his own trousers zipper, letting it fall on the floor, showing he was wearing nothing under it, and Snape allowed himself to admire the youth's body, until he couldn't contain himself and pulled the other in a fast and unpremeditated move, making the boy come over the bed – straddling him – each leg at a side of his hips.

And the touch of the boy's skin over his made the miracle again, and he was hard once more and he _needed_ more than the lad's mouth on him this time.

"_Tu veux moi, mon cher?"¹_, he whispered, lying on top of the man, kissing his neck, while Snape's hand created life and held onto the boy's hips tightly, trying to put him over his penis.

Raising his chest and biting on his lips, Armand lowered himself over Snape making the professor penetrate him without preparation, and the boy groaned loudly – because of the pain – while Snape raised his hips, increasing the contact and the strength of the boy's move. But the man was beyond caring about what the boy's groans were for, his hands were making the boy raise his hips again, pushing hard against him making the boy groan painfully once more, but he ignored it.

And then it wasn't enough, he wanted to _enter_ him, all of him, he wanted to dominate him.

And when the boy raised his hips one again, Snape allowed the boy's body to leave his, taking that as an opportunity to reverse their positions on the bed, having the boy lying down, his back to him, raising Armand's hips with one of his hands and penetrating him fast, moaning all the time, leaving him quickly pushing back harder, the boy moaning painfully under him, but he didn't care.

It felt so_ good._

Every time faster, in stronger and stronger lunges, moaning pleasurably as Armand had done before, not considering what the other could be feeling, Snape came, biting the boy's neck while he did it, stopping himself from screaming as he wanted to, and falling over the boy, not caring he was smaller.

Only after he drew a deep breath he left Armand's body, seeing the bloody mark _he_ had done, and some part of him – his sadistic part – felt a kind of macabre satisfaction in having marked the boy as his.

The boy turned on bed, still taking deep breaths, and tried to hide the tears running down his face, while he took control of his shaking breath.

And Snape decided not to think, and let the naked and hurt and in pain boy there, putting some muggle money over the bedside table and leaving the room as soon as he had got dressed, as if ashamed of his actions.

And only when he was already out of that place he allowed himself to think.

He had been _sucked_ by Harry Potter and had _fucked_ him next.

How sick, exactly, was he?

* * *

"_Armand", means 'of the army – soldier', "Boncroyant", means 'Good Faith', and I chose this name in opposition to "Malfoy" that means 'bad faith'. X)_

_¹The sentences in French mean, respectively: "But of course, my dear. I'm Valerie.", "He often goes there on Fridays", "Good luck", "Shit", "I want you, my dear." And "Do you want me, my dear?"_

* * *

**So, how did you like it? Hope you actually liked it. O.õ**

**Anyway, the speed of Armand's return depends only on you, dear reader, the more reviews, the faster the third chapter comes \o**

**R E V I E W !**


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